


Cantaloupe (or:  Sloan Sabbith is Not Normal)

by Shakespeares_Girl



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Breathplay, Cheating, F/M, Safewords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:13:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shakespeares_Girl/pseuds/Shakespeares_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sloan safewords, Don freaks out a little, and then gets frustrated a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cantaloupe (or:  Sloan Sabbith is Not Normal)

**Author's Note:**

> It might be important to note that, while it doesn't come up specifically in the fic, Don has been regularly cheating on Maggie. I have been told this is helpful to know if you want to understand Don and why he's such an ass (in this fic specifically).

“Cantaloupe!” Sloan moans, and Don jerks away, hands held up protectively.

“What? What did I do? I thought you liked it?” he demands. Sloan is frowning at him from the bed as he trips backward, trying to figure out if he should put on pants or if there's any chance this might keep going after they've talked through why Sloan just used her safeword.

“I did like it,” Sloan says. “That's why I used my safeword.”

“Uh . . .” It takes Don a minute but eventually he manages to close his mouth and actually figure out how to answer that. “But that's not—you don't use a safeword when you like what's happening.”

“What? Yes you do. You should! Otherwise why is it called a safeword?” Sloan looks about as confused as Don feels.

“No,” Don says slowly. “A safeword is used when one or both of the parties involved in a sex act that involves a higher-than-normal level of risk begin to feel upset or unsafe. The safeword is used to restore safety and the normal power balance.”

“That's dumb,” Sloan announces, and Don feels the first sparks of annoyance and frustration flicker to life in the depths of his soul. “Safewords make you feel safe. You use them when you feel safe.”

“No,” Don says again, just as slowly. “You really don't.”

“But I don't understand,” Sloan argues. “By its very nature the word 'safeword' suggests a word said when one is or feels safe. A word of safety. A word to say when feeling safety. A--”

“I get it, you don't have to keep going,” Don snaps.

“So that's why you stopped? You thought I wanted you to stop?” Sloan asks.

“Yes,” Don rolls his eyes, “that's why I stopped.”

“Well, you didn't have to. I wasn't feeling threatened or unsafe,” Sloan says it with great earnestness in her voice. Don isn't sure if he'd rather fuck her through the mattress or punch her in the nose. Who knows, maybe Sloan's into that. She can always safeword out if she doesn't like it, after all. Don sighs.

“Okay, so, do you want me to—um,” Don motions at her body.

Sloan looks at herself then back up at him. “Do I want you to what? I don't understand your hand gestures, I'm not very good at reading body language. Sorry.”

“Okay then,” Don decides. “I'm just going to go back to what I was doing before you confused the fuck out of me.”

“Oh, right. Please continue,” Sloan nods, and lays back for him.

Don steps back toward the bed, then stops. “Why is that even your safeword? That seems like a dumb thing to pick if you want something that makes you feel safe.”

“I like cantaloupe,” Sloan explains, sitting back up. “It tastes the way I always thought my childhood bedspread would have tasted. And it reminds me of my grandmother.”

Don just gapes at her for a moment, then stalks over to the bed, shoves her down, and climbs on top. “Please never mention your grandmother when we're having sex. Normal people don't do that.”

“Oh,” Sloan says, and for a minute, Don thinks he's gone a little too far, just blurting out his opinion on her relative normalcy and oh fuck, she's got him thinking like she does, all complicated phrasing and unnecessarily long words.

“I do not think you are a normal girl,” he announces, sharp and harsh. “Sorry, but that's the truth. You're not normal.”

“Don,” Sloan says, tapping his shoulder. “Stop thinking and fuck me.”

“Fine,” he snaps, and does. It's oddly unsatisfying. He stops thrusting and pulls out. “Turn over,” he orders.

“Why?” Sloan asks.

“Because I said so,” Don insists. “Over.”

“I'm not sure what the point is,” Sloan complains, but she turns so she's on her stomach.

Don takes a moment to roll out his shoulders and crack his neck then starts again. It's better, but still not quite enough. He considers stopping again, just calling the whole thing off, but then Sloan makes a humming, pleased noise, and just. He wants to make her shut up so bad. He thrusts harder, faster. He's pretty sure he's trying to fuck her into silence, subconsciously at the very least, and somehow that thought is really appealing. He likes the idea of fucking her so hard she just shuts up.

He can hear her murmur something underneath him and without thinking he pushes her face into the pillow. “Shut up, Sloan,” he growls, and she mans again, and god damn it, he really just doesn't want to hear any noise from her at all. He pushes harder, thrusts harder, hopes she can still breathe but doesn't care enough to check, just goes at it.

It's sort of surprising when she clenches up around him and makes a noise into the pillow like she's dying. She's completely pliant and silent underneath him afterward, so he shifts his grip to her shoulders instead of the back of her head, pushes down on her back instead of her head and keeps fucking until he comes.

He flops over on his side and brushes fingers over Sloan's arm to try and get her to turn toward him.

“You okay?” he asks, knowing he sounds pissy but not caring enough to school his tone. He's often pissy after sex. It always makes Maggie defensive, and then she yells at him for it.

“Mmm-hmm. Cantaloupe,” Sloan mumbles, then goes silent.

Don waits a minute, unsure what version of safeword Sloan just used. “Um, Sloan?”

“Shut up, Don Ameche. I'm trying to sleep. Go away.”

“Right,” Don sighs, and flops again, onto his back this time. Sloan is really, really not a normal girl.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanation for any of this. Sometimes my brain is just weird, and spews things into word documents. Also, apologies to Don Ameche for involving him in this madness.


End file.
